The Boy Who Lived
by HammerOfElohim
Summary: The end of Harry Potter's journey to defeat Voldemort. I'm going to do things a bit differently; I intend to start with the ending and then jump back to the beginning to explain the whole.


He was dead.  
  
He had done it.  
  
He was dead.  
  
Nothing mattered anymore. He had done it.  
  
Light. It was all around him.  
  
The great castle of Hogwarts was totally destroyed. The work of the Four Founders lay in utter ruins, blasted off the face of the Earth by the battle that had raged for the past twenty four hours.  
  
Twenty four hours. Two gods had fought there, within that time period. Their struggle had shaken the castle to its very foundations, ripping stone asunder as if it were made of paper. The sky itself was rent in two; such was the violence of their struggle.  
  
He had fought.  
  
He had killed.  
  
He had killed his enemy.  
  
His enemy had killed him.  
  
His friends were safe.  
  
Light. It was surrounding him...  
  
Harry had fought Voldemort with all his heart, soul and mind.  
  
He remembered.  
  
He could remember when the Death Eaters stormed the castle, blasting down the front gates. He could remember the dementors sweeping through the windows, the trolls crashing through the gardens, the dragons shrieking through the sky. He remembered the huge clouds of Patronuses battling against the dementors, the loyal giants clomping out to meet their enemies, the Ministry Aurors and Order of the Phionex members dueling against their evil counterparts.  
  
He could remember the shouts and screams of battle.  
  
He remembered seeing Voldemort entering the battle.  
  
His eyes glowing like a demon, cackling in insanity as Avada Kedavra curses bounced off him the way Stun spells bounce off stone walls. With every sweep of his wand, the bold heroes defending Hogwarts died by the dozen. Though they fought as hard as they could, the defenders were pushed back, step by torturous step.  
  
It was getting harder and harder to breath.  
  
His heart beat was growing slower.  
  
So many had died.  
  
Their names and faces raced through Harry's mind as he thought of them. So many loved ones. So many lives ended in brutality. Their bodies lay strewn about the castle, beside their fallen brethren. Many of them still clutched their wands, desperate to continue the fight even in death.  
  
They were determined to defend their comrades, even in death.  
  
They hadn't been fighting for a cause or ideal.  
  
They had been fighting for their friends  
  
So many had died in his arms. They died with smiles frozen on their lips, though he could not understand why.  
  
Now he understood.  
  
They had seen what he could see.  
  
Brilliance. Sheer brilliance. Faces.  
  
Voices.  
  
Harry.  
  
They had fought at the height of their powers.  
  
The demon and the angel.  
  
Harry was all that was left of the defending force. He was alone in the castle; only him and Voldemort, accompanied by the silent bodies of the dead. He did not have to worry about accidentally hurting his friends through the power of his magic.  
  
They fought, utterly unrestrained.  
  
He remembered.  
  
A halo of light played about his head as he raised the Sword of Gryffindor. "Voldemort," he roared, his voice echoing throughout the obliterated Great Hall. "Your time HAS COME! For the innocent blood you have shed today, I will repay you ten thousand thousand times!!!" The Dark Lord merely laughed as a pair of black leathery wings sprouted from his back. His snake wrapped and coiled around his arm, hissing as enchanted venom dripped from its fangs. "You and I are more then human, Harry," he cackled as he rose through the air. "If you are to be the victor, you must do more then merely shed my blood. You must fight to break me on every level of existence...for that is what I shall do for you."  
  
Screaming out a battle cry, filling himself with the purity that hid deep inside his bones, The Heir of Gryffindor met the Heir of Slytherin head on.  
  
Pillars toppled, explosions rocked the grounds, lightning split the sky, the Earth itself trembled.  
  
Voldemort fought with all the Dark powers of Hell that he could conjure.  
  
Harry had the power of his closest friends behind him.  
  
The power of the Light.  
  
Love.  
  
The weapon of the Light.  
  
And with it he drove his blade into Voldemort's chest.  
  
Even as the fangs of Voldemort's serpent bit deep into his chest.  
  
Voices.  
  
Harry.  
  
Faces in the brilliance.  
  
Mom.  
  
Dad.  
  
Harry.  
  
You've done well, son. Come with us.  
  
The next day, the sky was overcast.  
  
That was when they came back to Hogwarts.  
  
The Ministry officials, the Aurors, the reporters, the curious, the fearful.  
  
They had to see what happened.  
  
They saw Hogsmeade, nothing more then a pile of ash. They saw the Quidditch Pitch, piled high with the bodies of the dead. They saw the Castle Hogwarts, half of it collapsed inward, its spires and towers cast to the ground.  
  
They saw a brilliant shaft of sunlight pouring through a breach in the clouds. It pierced the gloominess and the shadows, making many of the spectators shake their heads in wonderment.  
  
They followed the shaft of sunlight to the heart of the castle.  
  
The ray of sunlight ended here, bathing a patch of blood red roses that seemed to just spring out of the stone floor. The roses seemed to shimmer as if covered in dew, sparkling like diamonds in the brilliance of the Sun. The bed of roses seemed pressed down almost, as if someone had just recently been lying on them.  
  
A few yards away from the patch of roses, a shriveled up robe was quickly becoming nothing more then a stain upon the ground.  
  
Those who were near the roses swore they felt a bizarre warmth it the air. When asked about it later, they swore that they heard footsteps nearby, gently echoing throughout the castle.  
  
They swore that they heard a whisper.  
  
They swore that they heard a voice whisper the word  
  
Hope.  
  
Though they searched and searched and searched throughout the entire castle, the members of the Ministry never found the body of Harry Potter.  
  
But to this day, the roses are still pressed down, as if someone had just risen from a deep sleep upon them, stretched, and prepared to meet the new day. 


End file.
